The Boy Inside
by Mele
Summary: Was Jason always an athlete? Apparently not...


**_Disclaimer:_** _The Power Rangers concept, the characters, and Angel Grove belong to Saban, and I am only borrowing them for some non-profit fun._

 ** _Notes and Timeline:_** _Adult Ranger, flashbacks to early childhood. This is a belated birthday fic for Dagmar. July 2001._

 ** _Author's notes 2015:_** _Dagmar Buse contacted me to tell me I'd missed a story which she'd noticed on the old Jenga's Library site. Sure enough this had completely disappeared from my computer. Thanks to Dagmar for the catch, and thanks to Jeremy Ray Logsdon who keeps that wonderful old site up._

 **The Boy Inside**  
 **By Mele**

 _**Fatty, fatty, two by four..**_

The sound of the childish voices raised in that old, familiar cruel chant caught Jason Scott's attention as he jogged slowly through Angel Grove Park. Following the sound to a small clearing hidden by the thick foliage, the twenty-one-year-old found five prepubescent boys circling one other, chanting the rhyme over and over, their taunting words seeming to strike their cowed victim like physical blows.

"Hey, that's enough," he declared firmly, stepping into the clearing and getting the bullies' attention. To his dismay he easily recognized one of the boys, a student in his beginner's class, a usually mild-mannered youth named Steve Mahoney.

"M...Mr. Scott..." Steve stuttered, dropping his gaze to the tips of his scuffed and tattered tennis shoes.

Jason fixed a stern glare on his student, secretly pleased to see his discomfort, knowing it meant the boy wasn't a true bully at heart. "I will speak to you about this later. Now, get out of here," he ordered the boys, allowing a touch of anger to color his voice.

"Yes, Sensei," Steve muttered, following his friends reluctantly.

The former Red Ranger turned his attention to their sniffling victim, noting the boy's torn jeans exposing a pair of scraped and bleeding knees. "You okay there, Buddy?" he asked gently, reaching for the bandana he always carried in his pocket.

"Yes, Sir," came the timid reply, as the youth shot a cautious glance up at his rescuer. The eyes that peered up from under shaggy red bangs were pale brown, set above freckled, chubby cheeks, and a tentative smile displayed small, even teeth. The boy was at least 20 pounds overweight, most of it carried in his more than ample gut, which swelled out his grey T-shirt above painfully tight-looking blue jeans.

"I'm Jason Scott, owner and instructor at the Dragon Karate School. What's your name?"

"Peter LaRose," the boy replied shyly, shaking Jason's proffered hand solemnly.

"Nice to meet you, Peter. It appears you'll live to fight another day, but you should walk around some to avoid getting too stiff. Did those boys push you down?" the dark-haired man asked gently.

"No, Sir. They were chasing me, and I fell. I'm real clumsy," the boy confessed.

"I see," was the thoughtful reply. Jason suspected there was more to it, but if Peter wasn't willing to implicate his tormentors, then the young man was not going to push it. He knew from his own childhood how that particular code of honor worked. "I don't remember seeing you before, are you new here?"

"Yes, Sir. We moved here three months ago, from Hawthorne, Nevada. I haven't made any new friends yet," Peter explained as they walked back to the path that wound through the scenic park. Jason decided to forgo finishing his jog for the time being in favor of walking with Peter.

"You ever study any Martial Arts?" the karate instructor asked, the beginnings of an idea tickling the back of his mind.

"Oh, no. I'm way too klutzy for that. I'd never be able to do it. And my mom, she doesn't believe in all that fighting stuff." The boy blushed and kept his gaze on the ground immediately in front of him, unable to believe the nice man who had rescued him could even ask such a ridiculous question.

"Ah, see, Peter, that's the first misconception. Karate is _not_ about fighting. It's about harmony - getting mind, body and spirit to work as one. It's about discipline, physical and mental. It's much, much more than just learning cool kicks and loud yells. Let me ask you something; if your mom said it was okay, would you be interested in taking lessons?" Jason wondered, stopping their walk and tipping the boy's head back with a gentle finger under the chin so he could see his eyes.

"Well, sure," Peter replied, the shy smile crossing his face again, unwilling to admit he'd harboured a secret fantasy of learning to fight like his favorite TV character, Ranger Walker.

"Here, please have her call me tonight, my home number is on the back," the ex Ranger instructed, handing over one of the business cards he always carried in his wrist wallet.

"I mean it, Peter, I'd like to see you in class," he smiled, as the boy pocketed the card.

"Thanks. I will. And ... um ... thanks for ... you know ..." he gestured vaguely back toward the bushes.

"You're welcome. See you later, Peter."

The young man watched the youth walk off, almost waddling from the extra weight he was carrying, and sighed to himself. He really hoped the boy's mother would call, and that he could convince her to allow Peter to join his karate class; he knew he could make a world of difference to the child.

And he owed that to someone very special.

 _**Can't fit through the bathroom door**_

"Fat ass tub of guts," the taller boy taunted his rotund opponent, the surrounding ring of classmates forming a protective screen from adult intervention. A fortuitous squabble in the front playground provided the opportunity for Chris Sheldon to engage in one of his favorite activities; making Jason Scott's life hell.

"You take that back!" the dark-haired boy cried, his mind swirling with frustration and impotent anger.

"Make me, Fatty!" Chris countered, easily evading Jason's awkward charge and tripping him as he stumbled past. "Oh, good move!" the bully taunted, kicking the nearest buttock of the fallen boy as he tried to rise.

The sparsely-scattered murmurs of disapproval for the cowardly move were drowned out by the derisive laughter as Jason collapsed on his belly again with an audible 'oof'.

"Shee-it, Scott. Can't even get your fat butt off the ground? Maybe we should send for a crane, huh?" The cruel words branded themselves on Jason's mind as he successfully scrambled to his feet. Absently wiping his abraded hands on his dirty jeans, he glared at his antagonist, breathing hard.

"That was a dirty move, coward!" he accused Chris, tears held at bay by force of will only.

"So, make me sorry," the taller boy dared him, grinning maliciously.

Jason had just started his considerable bulk forward when a large, very firm hand gripped his upper arm, stopping his progress cold.

"Just what is going on here?" the principal asked, looking between the disheveled Jason and the wide-eyed Chris.

"I don't know, Mr. Curran. I was just minding my own business and Jason attacked me," Chris whined with the ease of a habitual liar. Given his place in the schoolyard hierarchy, no one spoke up to contradict his claim.

"Jason? Why did you attack Chris?" the stern man asked, not releasing the meaty arm he held.

With the knowledge, born of experience, that there was nothing he could say at this point to clear himself, Jason remained mute, staring at the ground with an air of resignation. After a moment the principal sighed and turned toward his office, taking Jason with him and gesturing to the remaining children to disperse.

A half-hour later a quietly furious Marjorie Scott arrived to collect her wayward son and the letter officially notifying them that Jason was suspended for three days, to be followed by two weeks of after-school detention. With the nine-year-old standing sullenly at her side, she apologized for his behavior and promised they would deal with the matter at home, while the injustice of the situation burned in the child's heart.

"Jason Scott, what were you thinking?" Marjorie scolded her son as she drove them home. "Your father warned you what would happen if you got into another fight at school. You are to go straight to your room, young man, and wait for him. No TV, no radio. You just sit there quietly and consider how you got yourself into so much trouble. I am so disappointed in you!" she huffed, herding him into the house and pointing down the hall toward his room.

Tears already starting to fall, the boy did as he was bidden, throwing himself facedown on the bed and crying into his pillow. He was left alone for a few hours, until he heard his father's car pull into the driveway, and for the first time in his short life, he dreaded his father's arrival. The soft sound of his parents' voices in the kitchen preceded the ominous thudding of his father's footsteps down the hall and to his door.

Jason looked up from his seat on the bed, meeting his father's stern expression with tear-filled eyes. An icy ball of dread filled his stomach as his father silently contemplated him before speaking.

"I'm going to ask you this only once, Jason Lee Scott. And I expect the truth. Were you fighting on the playground?"

"Yes, sir, but it wasn't my fault..." he started, only to be stopped when his father raised one hand.

"I am not interested in excuses, Jason. I told you, plain and simple, what would happen if you ever got in another fight, didn't I?"

"Yes, sir." It was odd to hear a child's voice so resigned.

"And what did I say would happen?" his father persisted.

"You said ... said I'd get a s...spanking with your b...belt," the boy stuttered out, his breath hitching.

"That's right. Bend over the edge of the bed, Jason," he instructed his son, his hands already loosening his belt buckle. "I'm sorry it's come to this."

With a strangled sob, the future Red Ranger assumed the position his father requested, folding his hands under his upper body so he wouldn't reach back. Jack Scott rested his left hand on the small of his child's back, for comfort as much as for restraint, and delivered six stinging swats with the wide leather belt. The blows were not unduly hard, but it was Jason's first experience with anything except a hand spanking, and he cried out loudly with each blow.

"You can come out to the den and join us when you're ready," the man told him, rubbing Jason's heaving back comfortingly, before leaving hastily, feeling sick to his stomach at what he'd done. He hated having to punish his son, but Jason hadn't responded to any other forms of discipline in regards to his fighting, and this was a last resort.

Jason couldn't seem to stop crying, not from the pain in his backside - though that was certainly unpleasant enough - but from the pain in his heart. His dad hadn't listened to him, hadn't let him explain! Why did everyone think he was the one who started the fights? He couldn't just stand by and let boys like Chris Sheldon say those sorts of things about him; he couldn't! It wasn't fair!

Anger began to supplant the hurt, and with it came the need to get away from his parents, to find some place where he'd be treated fairly. He quietly left his room, but instead of going to the den where his folks were watching TV, he crept to the kitchen and let himself out into the back yard. Slipping out the back gate, he hurried down the alley behind his house, then onto Grove Street, heading as far away from his home as he could.

With a protected child's singular lack of fear, he made his way to the other end of town, walking purposefully from streetlight to streetlight before realizing he had absolutely no idea where he was. The anger that had fueled his flight had bled away, leaving only the heartache behind, now joined by fear, dread, and loneliness. His feet aching to rival his spirit, he sat down on a residential curb and lowered his head to his knees, crying softly.

Gradually he became aware that a large figure now sat beside him, not speaking nor touching, just waiting patiently. Jason peered listlessly at the man, a stranger to him, and a part of his mind recognized that he should be wary of meeting strangers late at night, but he was simply too worn out to be afraid.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come up for air," a deep voice noted, revealing a hint of an accent, which lent it a pleasingly foreign sound.

Not having a reply to that observation, Jason simply looked at the man, his pain-filled eyes still swimming with unshed tears just waiting to join the ones that had already fallen.

"My name is Stan Jurgen, I live in this house behind us, with my wife and daughter. I wasn't expecting to find a visitor when I came out here to dump the trash," the man explained, wanting to reassure the boy with details, and draw him out a little. "It would be nice if I had a name to call you."

"Jason Scott," came the subdued reply.

"Well, Jason, what brings you to my little corner of Angel Grove?"

"I'm sorry, I'll get going," the boy said, intending to rise to his feet.

"Nah, sit a spell, talk to me. Seems you're a boy with a problem, maybe I can help. It's late anyway, and dark, not really all that safe to be wandering around. Why don't you tell me what's wrong?" he coaxed the youth. His face illuminated faintly by the streetlight was open and caring, and the child found himself instinctively trusting him.

Hesitantly at first, but gaining momentum rapidly, Jason poured his story out to this kind-faced stranger; the daily torment from classmates, the futile attempts at retaliation, his parents' inability to see his side of the story, the unjust punishments he had been given. Though the boy was obviously distraught, Stan noted that he never sank into the bitter, exaggerated anger of a spoiled child railing against perceived wrongs. Jason, despite his distress, was able to articulate surprisingly well the sources of his pain, and as a consequence his audience of one was completely convinced of the honesty of his claims.

At some point during Jason's narrative, the man had put his arm around the boy's shoulders, and the boy was now leaning heavily on his large companion, his tears falling on one broad shoulder. As he wound down, Jason realized what he was doing, and pulled away in embarrassment, brushing at his damp cheeks hastily.

"I'm sorry," he whispered anxiously. "You must think I'm a big baby."

"Not at all. I think you are a young man who has been wronged, and I'd like to help if I can," Stan said soothingly.

He studied the lad before him critically, taking in the soft, overweight body; the round, honest face; the dark, soulful eyes that revealed a spirit still untainted by hatred. He knew he could help change this child's life, if his parents were willing. Something about the boy told him that he was destined to do great good, if only he were set on the right path, and Stan was determined that that future would be realized.

"Come on in the house, and let's call your folks, they must be worried half sick by now. I'd like to meet with them, I think I can help you if you're willing to try," he offered, standing up and reaching down one large hand to the distraught boy.

Jason looked at the hand with a thoughtful expression, then laid his pudgy fingers in it and allowed himself to be drawn to his feet.

"I own a karate studio downtown..." Stan was explaining as he led the boy away from the dark street toward his cheerfully lighted house.

 _**So he did it on the floor...**_

Jason left the karate studio nearly bouncing with excitement, having passed yet another belt test, this one for a blue belt. It had been six months since that fateful night that landed him on the curb in front of Stan Jurgen's home. After hearing Jason's story, Stan had called Jack and Marjorie Scott, and after reuniting Jason with his very relieved parents, he had had a long discussion with the Scotts that culminated with them agreeing to Jason taking karate lessons.

Marjorie had confessed to the instructor that after Jason was born a month prematurely, she had over- compensated and pressed food on the boy whether he was hungry or not, praising him lavishly for overeating. She agreed to work with Jason to change his eating habits, while Stan, with home assistance from Jack, trained the youth's body, so as the fat melted, lean muscle began to form. ...

Karate provided a healthy outlet for Jason's occasional aggressive feelings, and he proved to be an adept pupil at both the physical, and the spiritual, aspects of the sport. As he learned to control both his body and emotions, and the restricting layer of fat dissolved, his native athleticism and grace asserted themselves. Working as a team to help Jason brought the Scott family closer together, mending relationships that had suffered from lack of communication and understanding. Becoming steadily more comfortable and secure with who he was allowed Jason's natural kindness and protective instincts to flower, and soon the once lonely little boy had numerous friends.

There seemed to be only one lingering problem, that being that despite all he had learned, Jason still harbored a desire for revenge against Chris Sheldon, who had tormented him since kindergarten. He never spoke to his parents or sensei about this lingering piece of his past unhappiness, nor did he try to squelch it. With the intensity of a child's feelings he promised himself this one, last fight, no matter the price. He owed it to himself to prove, once and for all, that he could vanquish his long-time nemesis.

When school started in September Jason's classmates barely recognized him, so astonishing was the change in the boy's appearance. His newfound confidence added to the effect, and from being the class outcast he suddenly found himself Mr. Popularity, especially with the girls, who giggled and whispered whenever he walked by.

The Sheldon boy viewed the transformation of his most tempting target with suspicious disbelief, mistrusting the change. But, he hadn't been a bully so successfully without learning the value of stealth and planning, so he bided his time, allowing his enemy to savor his apparent victory before he would plunge Jason Scott back down where he belonged - at the bottom of the school social ladder.

So it was that when a distracted, and very self-satisfied, Jason left the karate studio after his successful belt test, Chris was lying in wait for him in a vacant lot a few blocks from Jason's home. Hiding behind a fence that kept Jason from seeing him, the bully grabbed his unsuspecting victim and threw him down with the ease of long practice. Or rather, he _tried_ to throw him down.

Though surprised, Jason did not fall, but stumbled a few steps until he regained his balance, then readied himself for a battle he'd been anticipating for months. Thanks in part to the sporadic growth spurts little boys go through, they were now almost the same size, Jason having gained a couple of inches of height over the summer.

"Thinking you're pretty good, aren't you?" Chris sneered. "You're still a fat, stupid slob everyone laughs at."

Jason ruthlessly pushed back the things he'd learned about fighting fair, turning the other cheek, or controlling himself, and launched a flurry of kicks and punches at his tormentor, striking back for every kick, every shove, every cruel word the other boy had hit him with in the past four years. Chris was strong, but he was used to fighting those who couldn't fight back, and was defenseless against Jason's budding karate skills. Within minutes the former bully was down on his back, crying and holding his bleeding nose under two eyes that were already darkening with bruises.

"Don't _ever_ mess with me again. You try it, and I'll hurt you worse," Jason ground out, trying to ignore his churning stomach and fluttering nerves. He had imagined this fight dozens of times, and always he ended up the victor, standing full of self-righteous pride as his opponent slunk away in defeat.

The reality was a lot uglier.

Seeing Chris's tears, the bright red blood against his pale face, hearing the other boy's snuffling sobs, only made Jason feel petty and ashamed. He'd never in his life intentionally hurt someone, and the horror he felt in his act of aggression was overwhelming. Turning from his erstwhile victim, he ran home, unable to face what he'd done with such malicious forethought.

Grateful to find the house deserted, he went to his room and settled down on the bed, turning on his TV to his favorite afternoon show. But the action-packed adventures of the TV characters seemed grating and unreal, and every time the hero landed a punch all the youngster could see was the blood oozing from Chris Sheldon's nose. Turning the show off after only fifteen minutes, he tried to read with no success, finally just lying back and drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

His parents both commented on how quiet he was that evening, and when he barely ate any dinner his mother felt his forehead, checking for fever. Pleading exhaustion, he went to bed early only to toss and turn all night, his heart rate racing every time the phone rang. The next morning he was pale and miserable, the dark circles under his eyes making them look sunken. He moped around the house for a few hours before deciding on a bike ride to take his mind off things, especially since he'd seen his folks looking curiously at him, probably wondering why the long face after passing his belt test. The last thing Jason wanted to do was get into any sort of discussion with his parents.

He rode aimlessly for a while, before realizing he had unconsciously been making his way to the part of town the Jurgens lived in. He stopped his bike at the curb where Stan had found him crying that night a half year before, and stared at the house, screwing up his courage for what he knew he had to do.

He parked his bike and knocked on the front door, hoping faintly that they were gone for the day, but his luck was not that good. Stan opened the front door, but the smile he'd had for his favorite student faded in the face of the boy's obvious unhappiness.

"Jason, what's happened?" he asked, stepping out on the porch and closing the door behind him.

"I did something I shouldn't have," Jason confessed in a whisper, unable to face his sensei.

"Then look into my eyes and tell me what it is," Stan insisted, laying a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Jason looked up and told his mentor everything he'd done yesterday, then waited anxiously for the man whose importance in his life was second only to his father to make his decision.

"I guess you know I'm disappointed in you," the man said solemnly. "What you did goes against all the things I've tried to teach you." He paused, considering his options, then looked back down at his pupil.

"Come by the studio tomorrow and I will tell you what decision I've reached regarding your penance. I'm not happy with you, Jason, but it WAS a good thing for you to tell me. I will take that into consideration. I'll see you tomorrow."

Feeling both faintly relieved and apprehensive, Jason decided he needed to make his other confession and get it behind him. It seemed to take much longer to ride home than it had to ride out, but at last he was parking his bike back in the garage and heading toward the den where his dad watched a tennis match while his mom read a mystery novel.

"Mom, Dad, I need to tell you something." When he had his parents' attention, he told the sorry tale of his actions the day before for the second time in an hour, and watched their eyes darken with disappointment.

"Jason, go to your room and wait for me. Your mother and I need to talk," Jack said with a coldness in his voice that filled his son with anguish.

Sitting on his bed, remembering the last time he'd waited there for punishment, Jason's anxiety grew, even as he realized that he felt better than he had in the last twenty-four hours. He promised himself he wouldn't argue whatever punishment his father decided for him; he knew full well he deserved it.

When his dad came in a half hour later, he took a seat on Jason's desk chair and contemplated his son.

"I guess you know your mom and I are extremely disappointed in you," he said, seeing tears gleam in the boy's dark eyes at his words. "But, a few months ago, I punished you unjustly, so, it seems only fair that I offer you the chance to ... trade in, as it were ... that undeserved punishment for the one you deserve this time. It's your choice, Jason. I'll give you a few minutes to think about it."

Alone again, the ten-year-old's first reaction was to tell himself that of course he would take the trade-in, he wasn't an idiot, after all. But, a few moments later that part of him which would make him a successful leader and teacher in later years spoke up, honestly wondering if that was the RIGHT thing to do. He was still considering the question when his dad came back in.

"Well, Jason?" he asked.

"I ... I ... I think I deserve to be punished," the boy said, startling his father, who nevertheless had the wisdom to not speak until his son had worked it through for himself. "When you punished me before, you thought you were doing the right thing, right? When I kept hitting Chris, even knowing he couldn't defend himself, it was wrong, and I knew it then. I deserve to be punished, I knew what I was doing. It's not the same thing," Jason mused out loud, finally looking up at his father with a puzzled expression.

"Does that make sense?"

"Yes, Jason, it makes perfect sense. And, I have to tell you, Son, I'm proud of you, for making that decision." He pulled his child into a fierce hug, kissing the top of the dark head affectionately, before dropping his hands to his belt buckle. "You know the drill, Kiddo," he said as Jason sighed and briefly wondered if he'd lost his mind ...

Jason walked to the karate studio the next afternoon, having decided his bike seat would be a little more uncomfortable than he wanted that day. He waited patiently just inside the door until Stan finished a phone call and gestured his student over to him.

"Okay, Jason, I've reached my decision. I think some refresher work is in order, so you are not allowed to wear your blue belt to class, plus, you ..."

 _**Licked it up and did some more..**_

"... will go back and retake the beginning course, including the test for the first belt. But first you will explain to the incoming students _why_ you are in their class. Understood?" Jason fixed Steve Mahoney with a stern look that made the boy squirm guiltily.

"Yes, Sensei," he murmured, his expression far from happy, but Jason knew, from his own experience when he was given that sentence from Stan Jurgen, that the boy would ultimately benefit from it.

In fact, that time spent back in the beginner's class had laid the foundation for Jason's love of teaching karate, since he ended up tutoring and assisting the younger students. His sensei had seen the way Jason worked with the youngsters, and after that gave the boy reduced rates on his lessons in exchange for Jason assisting with the younger kid's classes.

Jason had made it to his second black belt when Stan was diagnosed with cancer, which ended his life only three months later. During his last visit, as his teacher lay close to death, Jason made him a promise.

"Sensei, you changed my life in so many ways; all for the better. I promise, someday, I'll find a way to do the same for someone else. And when I do, please know, I do it to honor you, my friend." A week later at his funeral, Jason repeated his vow as he dropped a single rose on the casket of his hero as tears slid unnoticed down his cheeks.

The young man remembered that vow when he glanced up from his stretching exercises to see Peter LaRose standing just inside the front door, looking around nervously. It struck Jason as a sad indication of the boy's situation that he came alone to see him.

"Peter! Good to see you, what did your mom decide?" Jason greeted the boy. Jason had spent fifteen minutes on the phone the night before with Peter's single mother, explaining the potential benefits of Peter learning karate, but in the end she had told him she needed to think it over more before deciding.

"Um ... she said okay. But, are you sure you think I can do this?" the youngster asked uncertainly. "I mean, I'm not an athlete." Jason saw something in the youngster's eyes that he recognized from his own youth; the desire to be as physically adept as other boys were, to fit in with the jocks in class. To not be the slowest, the weakest, the worst; the last one chosen for every team.

"I didn't think I was either," the former Ranger chuckled. "You'll surprise yourself."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Scott ... I mean, look at you. I bet you still look athletic in a tuxedo. Me, I just look like a penguin," the boy groused, remembering his aunt's wedding the summer before.

"Well, maybe now, but ... let me show you something," Jason offered, leading Peter to his office and rummaging round in his top drawer. "Ah, here it is."

He handed his newest student a picture taken of him a few months before he met Stan, and the snapshot was far from flattering. He looked soft, uncomfortable, and totally unathletic, and Peter studied it with undisguised surprise.

"Oh, man, is that _you_?" he asked incredulously.

"Yep. When I was about your age, before I started karate. I won't kid you, Peter, it took a lot of work, a lot of effort, and some sacrifices. But I've never regretted it. And if you are willing to try, I'll do all I can to help you find the boy inside you who longs to be an athlete. So, what do you say? Wanna give it a try?"

Peter looked up at Jason with worshipful eyes, feeling for the first time that there might be hope for him after all. "Yes, sir!" he exclaimed.

"Good man. I'll see you here after school on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and at one on Saturdays."

He couldn't suppress a laugh when the boy gave him a jaunty salute before hurrying out the door. Jason settled back in his desk chair and looked at a framed photograph of a handsome, blond-haired man with a warm smile.

"I always keep my promises, Sensei," he whispered, then headed out to the floor to finish his exercises.

 **The End.**

 ** _Author's notes:_** _Special thanks to Rap for information regarding karate and senseis, and to Dagmar for beta reading it. (yes, she beta'd her own gift g)_


End file.
